


Wolf Moon

by ColdEthyl (LadyJaneSlay1554)



Category: Metalocalypse (Cartoon)
Genre: Abigail/Toki Friendship, Angst, Blood, Blood Kink, Blood and Gore, Blood and Torture, Bondage, Brutal, Brutality, Captivity, Chains, Dark, Don't Like Don't Read, Edging, Episode: s04 The Doomstar Requiem, F/M, Full Moon, Guro, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kissing, Manacles, Menstruation, Non-Consensual Blood Drinking, Non-Consensual Bondage, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Denial, Rape/Non-con Elements, Type O Negative, Withholding Sex, Wolf Moon, period
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:41:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22238800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyJaneSlay1554/pseuds/ColdEthyl
Summary: The Metal Masked Assassin catches Abigail at her most vulnerable.Circa Doomstar Requiem.Inspired by the song "Wolf Moon" by Type O Negative.  Started to write this on actual 2020 Wolf Moon (1.10.2020).EXTREMELY DARK, VERY SENSITIVE SUBJECT MATTER.  DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ. 18+Constructive comments and Kudos always appreciated.
Relationships: Abigail Remeltindtdrinc/Metal Masked Assassin, Abigail Remeltindtdrinc/Toki Wartooth, Magnus Hammersmith/Abigail Remeltintdrinc
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Wolf Moon

**Author's Note:**

> DARK, SENSITIVE SUBJECT MATTER. 18+ ONLY. Menstruation theme, don't like, don't read.

It was their second week of captivity when Abigail felt it – the telltale signs of her period. A cramp here, a cramp there…. Were her breasts getting bigger? It always, always coincided with the full moon, which was, she was told by Magnus matter-of-factly on one of her escorted journeys to the bathroom that morning, in five days. She thought about it as she used the toilet. She flushed and washed her hands. Abigail brushed her hair with half of a large-tooth comb. She took a grey washcloth off the stack above the sink and washed her face and then the rest of her body, giving herself a small sponge bath. Though she and Toki were chained most of the time in a dingy basement, it felt good to perform this small bit of self-care, trivial as it might seem. She washed away grime and sweat, blood and dirt, and the lingering stickiness of sex – Magnus and some of the other Revengencers weren’t above getting their rocks off by using a prisoner.

Abigail steeled herself for what was ahead. She looked in the cracked, cloudy mirror at a strong but very much wounded woman. She had to be tough, and keep her wits about her. She stowed a few grey washcloths on the sides of her panties and covered them with her slip. No high-end organic tampons or maxi-pads here, so she’d have to use what was available in the days ahead. Hopefully these would last. But with an inevitably heavy flow brought on by a new copper IUD, she was dreading both the crippling cramps and the crime-scene-worthy amount of blood. She hoped she could grab more washcloths as the days went by. Also, she sorely needed heat to ease her cramps – how could she achieve that?

Toki crumbled more and more apart each day and it was up to her to keep him from going all to pieces. Through small acts of self-care, she found she could bring him some comfort. By cleaning herself up, she found she could lead by example and let him know he could do the same. When he emerged from that bathroom, tidied up, he stood a little taller. When she held his hand when Magnus, or worse, the Metal Masked Assassin, questioned or verbally abused him, she could feel him stop shaking. When she sang him lullabies, it helped him go to sleep and quell his night terrors. When she held him close, they created warmth.

But with her period fast approaching, she didn’t know how she’d be able to keep as clean and as confident as she liked. Of course, she prayed to be rescued each day, but as time wore on, their situation seemed bleaker and bleaker. And it seemed that Magnus, the Assassin and their cronies got crueler and crueler. 

She sighed as she exited the restroom, nudging Toki in as she left. She stood facing the wall as a formidable-looking female Revengencer handcuffed her for the walk back to their basement cell. Out of the corner of her eye, she could recognize the male Revengencer as he eyed her up and down, waiting for Toki to exit so he could escort him back, too. Heavier handcuffs softly jingled at the ready in his meaty hand – she recognized this man as the one who had stabbed and kidnapped her at Cornickelson’s funeral. His name was Mac and he was a sadist, through and through, she knew, with bitter memories. He had also been back to “visit” her on numerous occasions as Magnus watched from the shadows. Abigail glowered at the wall, her hands turning to tight fists. But then she remembered Toki, as he came out of the restroom. She sighed and forced herself to wear a calm face as she turned to look at the Norwegian.

With a Herculean effort, he gave her a ghost of a smile, then was pushed to the graffiti-laden wall and handcuffed. They were marched back to their basement chamber. There, they found their daily food (today, it was stale bread and a few limp carrots, a welcome change from Alpo) and a bucket of sulphury well water, like always. The two were chained up into their heavy collars and left alone. The metal door rang out echoes as it slammed. Three locks clicked into place.

Day in and day out, it was just the same. Abigail held Toki, telling stories of happier times and asking him to reciprocate. Once in a while, he did. She told of her first Communion. His shared the story of his confirmation day in Norway. She told him about making cookies with her mother and sisters for Christmas. He told her about how he found a rabbit and her warren of babies in a field of wildflowers. She shared with him about how Nathan wouldn’t stop texting her his plans for their future together – wedding plans, baby names, vacation ideas, even honeymoon destinations (how trivial and ANNOYING it was at the time but what she’d give for him to swoop in and rescue her now and act on every stupid promise he made)! Toki remembered joy-riding with Dr. Rockso and his guitar audition duel with Skwisgaar. He giggled, remembering when he put super-glue onto Murderface’s moustache comb.

They say that happy memories help get people through grief. Through touch and nostalgia, the two were able to build themselves up. Abigail thought of Toki as the little brother she’d never had. Toki felt Abigail was a loving sister he’d always wanted. And even though their days and nights were filled with sadistic terrors from twisted men, the two found havens in one another.

Until one evening, after she and Toki had taken a nap.

The night of the first full moon of January – the Wolf Moon, so called because of the mating season for wolves.

Abigail awoke to Toki screaming and looked around.

“Abigail! What ams they done to you? You ams bleeding and… and…!”

The young producer found herself in a puddle of blood. She hadn’t been sorely hurt that day and her back wound hadn’t opened up, so it must be….

“Toki, it’s ok, it’s ok…. Please stop screaming. I’m not hurt. I’m just on my period.” She took him by the shoulders and stood both of them up. She didn’t want him to have to kneel in her blood. A wave of cramps hit her, making her cringe in pain, but she collected herself. “You know that, right?” 

She tilted his head so she could meet his gaze, looking into his bleary, puffy eyes, with tear trails coursing down his beaten face. She stroked his cheek. “They didn’t hurt me this time. I’m so sorry you got so worried. Thank you for being so concerned, my friend.” She laughed. “Didn’t you know being a woman is messy? You guys have it so easy!”

“There ams just… so much blood! I gots worried that they stabbed yous in secret… ands…” Toki choked back tears. “Ams glad you ams ok.” He threw his arms about his friend.

Abigail reciprocated, feeling bad that she must be getting a bit of blood on Toki, but he didn’t seem to mind. 

Just then, the door opened and the Metal Masked Assassin stood with Magnus and two pairs of male Revengencers. Abigail felt like she was shrinking into the cement, but holding Toki’s hand strengthened her. He stepped in front of her as the Assassin entered the room, trying to protect her and shield her, but within moments, the giant demon with the silver mask was upon them both with his cronies.

He pointed at the little-used door at the side of the room. Two Revengencers opened it, flicked on a light and cleared the dissection table within, bringing up manacles at the head and foot of the table. The others quickly scoured the table with Lysol wipes and then they all strode back into the cell-like room where Toki and Abigail were held.

Abigail hugged and clutched Toki to her, her eyes wide and terrified. “You must promise to be brave for me. I want you to think of your happiest memory and hold tight to it,” she said, his face in her hands. Desperately, she said, “Do you understand? Nod if you do! We’ll be back together soon, I promise! Be strong and-”

But she was cut off as a Revengencer slapped her across the face. “Our master has need of you, and it would be best if you shut your whore mouth.”

Magnus, like a shadow, had crept beside them and was now freeing her from her chained neck collar. “Now, now, Edward,” he berated the Revengencer with a seething grin as he firmly grasped Abigail’s wrist with one hand. “We mustn’t do such things. Remember that Master wants her pretty….” The collar clinked undone with the turn of a key. Magnus set it on the floor, the chain jangling loudly. With his free hand, he stroked Abigail’s left cheek and drew his hand down her face, gripping her chin in his long fingers. She snapped at his hand, white teeth flashing, missed. Her teeth snapped together. Magnus shook his head and chuckled while he led the way to the open door.

“Edward” took one of Abigail’s arms with both of his hands. His partner, Cain, took the other. Abigail, though covered in blood, strode towards the room like a queen to a throne chamber, head carried high and face set in a stoic gaze, though blood trickled from a cut lip. She would not be broken by these brutes. From her hips to her toes, her form was splotched with her own blood, but she wore it all like war paint to a battle. 

One Revengencer, Flint, stayed behind with Toki to restrain him should he get out of hand. And also so he could be forced to watch EVERYTHING that happened to his friend. He set up a folding chair and made the Norwegian set. Flint stood with his strong hands on the guitarist’s shoulders. Psychological torture was a mainstay of the Assassin’s realm, and the show he was about to see would not be one he’d soon forget.

Cain and Edward stripped the young woman of every stitch of clothing and threw it onto a nearby counter. Magnus settled himself into a high laboratory stool in the corner of the room so he could see everything. He folded his arms and set his face, a few flashes of teeth peeking through his slightly parted lips. 

The third Revengencer, Mac, opened the manacles at the head of the table and stood at the ready with a key. Edward and Cain hoisted Abigail onto the cold metal table as the Assassin took his place at its side. He noticed Abigail’s rapid breathing, though she was trying to maintain a placid face.

“Do you think you’re getting out of this alive?”

Mac latched the manacles onto Abigail’s wrists.

“I wonder why your precious Dethklok hasn’t come for you yet?” 

Edward and Cain brought the manacles up from the base of the table, securing Abigail’s feet.

“Could it be that you and that idiot Norwegian mean less to them than booze, sluts and drugs?”

Manacles clanked closed and locked on ankles.

Mac pressed a button, ratcheting all chains tighter and forcing Abigail into a strained, spread-eagle position. She could still move her arms and legs, but just barely. She felt a surge of blood flow out of her exposed womanhood. She stared stoicly at the ceiling, past the bare bulb hanging in the center of the room, illuminating her compromising scene. All the men’s eyes focused on the fresh blood intently.

“You’re here as a treat for me. And, if we do this properly, and you take it as you’re supposed to, this could be a treat for you as well.”

Abigail regarded him coldly.

The Assassin seemed to smile as spoke to her, inches from her face. “You’re not showing the proper respect to your benefactor.”

The young woman stared daggers at him. “But I am showing you all the respect that you deserve – NONE!” And she spat squarely into his eyes. 

He recoiled with a roar and wiped the spit and blood from the slits in his mask. “Bold words… from a whore!”

Magnus leaned in closer. What a show!

The Assassin steadied himself and looked at his captive. Her brown curly mane of hair was wild and matted. Her eyes flashed with rage and indignation. Blood still flowed from her cut lip. The young woman’s neck was covered in bruises from choking, biting and rough kisses. Her collarbones stood out from the top of her chest, and her breasts, bearing marks similar to her neck, heaved with exertion, the nipples hard from the cool room and the high emotions. Her scarred and bruised abdomen showed lean muscles and the smooth path to her womanhood was streaked with fresh red blood. Long legs and slightly toned arms strained at the manacles. Finger and toenail polish was chipped. 

And, at the apex between her legs, blood was pooling. Her womanhood and her ass swam in it – deep red, living, iron rich liquid, so vital to life. It was all the Assassin wanted to taste, to see, to smell, to… POSSESS. He dipped his finger into the deepest red on the table and brought it to his thin, pale lips, looking Abigail deep in they eyes as he tasted her life force. Slowly, the entire finger entered his mouth, and he pulled it out clean. 

She stared at him, horror-struck. 

The Assassin climbed onto the table, pushing her legs further apart, and proceeded to lap up all the blood between her legs before starting to lick at her flesh. She was powerless to squirm away, and tried desperately to pretend that she was somewhere else, WITH someone else, DOING something else. But after the Assassin proceeded to lick pelvis, ass and upper legs clean, he started to suck and lick at her very womanhood, desperate for more blood. Incredulously, she wondered if he were somehow part vampire, for what other… not man, but CREATURE would be that thirsty for such a substance?

She couldn’t believe he was doing it. He was eagerly lapping at her innermost, feminine muscles, reaching and tasting for more blood. The Assassin moved his tongue back and forth, in and out, and was even careful to caress her clit gently, hoping, no doubt, that doing so would summon more of her red life force. He teased and coaxed, bringing his thin, chapped lips into the dance, and Abigail couldn’t help moan a bit; it felt… she hated admitting it – GOOD.

He looked up as he heard her voice, a wide red smile painted on his lower face. “Like a sadistic clown,” she thought. An ache deep within her yearned for more of that sickening pleasure. She quickly quashed it, scowling at the pale man between her legs who wore her blood on his face. She closed her eyes for a few seconds and then focused her glare at the ceiling, willing herself to be silent and not enjoy this most compromising situation. 

She felt more blood pool between her legs. Cramps came, too, sudden and unwelcome. Abigail grimaced as the Assassin bent and drank. The tongue found its way between her legs again, probing and prospecting for more blood. The Assassin placed a few thick fingers deep into her slit and dug for his prize, making Abigail’s breath catch in her throat as he pressed and poked deeper and deeper. Drawing forth a bloodied pair of fingers, he licked them with relish, inches from her face.

“You taste so delicious, my dear. Like a fine red wine.”

Abigail gasped as he repeated the action, this time making bloody marks on her chest and legs – warpaint. She wished she could battle the inhuman demon that instant.

“Look at her, gentlemen. Just LOOK at this bitch. Isn’t she beautiful?”

The three Revengencers moved closer. Magnus got up from his lab stool to watch more intently. Abigail heard Toki try to cry out, but the sound of a body hitting the floor told her that Flint had dealt him a crippling punch.

Once again, the Assassin bent to drink from the red spring between her legs, so gentle and tender this time that it was hard to not moan. She closed her eyes and thought about her experience with Nathan not so long ago in that submarine deep in the ocean – he had also been gentle. In fact, the Assassin was almost exactly like Nathan in his mannerisms in this particular act, she was shocked to realize. Gentle, but with a purpose. With Nathan, it was obvious foreplay to actual sex. But with this Metal Masked Assassin, she could only guess. Was he doing this simply for himself, or did he want her to take her pleasure, too? He’d said that it could be a treat for her if she’d let it be….

More, more, and more lapping, tongue play, and kissing down below, in keeping with how the blood nearly flowed freely from her now. It was a marvel how much blood she could feel leaving her body – her period had never come this fast or this heavy before. She chalked it up to the new copper IUD, famous for igniting lengthy, bloody, painful periods. 

The Assassin was going at such a steady, almost soothing rhythm that Abigail sighed, trying to collect her thoughts. The sigh seemed to trigger the Assassin to look up, nearly his whole face covered in blood. Her blood. She stared at him.

“Harder? Softer? What do you like best, my dear? Slow, or quick?” He licked his bloody lips.

She continued to glare at him. 

He nodded at Mac, Cain and Edward. 

“Gentlemen, what does she like? You’ve broken this bitch before.”

“Slow,” said Edward.

“Deep,” said Cain.

“Hard,” said Mac.

The Assassin looked at Flint.

“As long as she bleeds in the end.”

Magnus gave a cruel laugh. “Doesn’t look like that’s gonna be a problem, Flint.” 

Toki let out a choked yelp, and Abigail heard her friend’s chair violently move.

“Just do it,” she said through gritted teeth. “God, please, dear Christ…. Let it be over soon,” she prayed silently.

More blood. More rhythmic lapping, more probing, but now a bit more play in his motions – he was really toying with her proverbial pearl and damn if it didn’t feel good. Pausing, then lapping around it and then going back to it with a sinfully sweet vengeance. He circled it and then played with it, a teasing game. She couldn’t help flinching a bit as she tried to hide a pleased moan. Her bare feet shifted restlessly on the table. She tried to raise her hips.

More blood.

More teasing –any woman would be hard-pressed not to writhe unbridled in pleasure and vocally enjoy the Assassin’s ministrations, but Abigail tried to the best of her ability. Blood slicked the serpentine path the Assassin wove with his tongue around and around the warm, wet nest of Abigail’s innermost muscles. She shifted constantly in her bonds, breathing more and more heavily. Cramps were gone, replaced with a warmth in her veins and her core. The Assassin placed both hands on her inner thighs and tried his hardest to bring her to her brink, sucking and lathing her womanhood in his hot spittle.

Abigail desperately didn’t want to give in, but the sensations were too much, and she let out a drawn-out moan, feeling broken but on the verge of wonderful release. She felt herself tense for the blessed pleasure to wash over her – for it all to be DONE and then God knew what else….

The Assassin stopped. He got up off the table. And they all just stared at her, lying in the gory mess she and the Assassin had made. 

No release. 

No orgasm. 

No more pleasure.

Through a haze of sweat in her eyes, she cursed them. She looked around as best she could. “Damn you all to fucking hell. You sick, horrendous, brutish bastards. When Dethklok finds you, I hope they’ll hold you down as I personally emasculate and disembowel each of you.” 

The Assassin and his men, silent as statues, undid the producer’s bonds. Mac carried her over his shoulder into the adjoining room and dumped her at the base of Toki’s chair. The Norwegian was crying as his personal overseer leered at the naked, defiled woman. Edward balled up Abigail’s clothing and threw the bundle at the wall where the collars were chained. It landed in a murky puddle. Magnus re-attached the collar about Abigail’s neck as she clambered upright. 

The men left the prisoners behind, taking the chair with them and slamming the door. The echo rang through the room, followed by the sound of three locks sliding into pace.

Toki and Abigail fell into each others’ arms, each crying bitter tears. Would this waking nightmare ever end?


End file.
